


Our Story in a Song

by Fumm95



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Music AU, Piano AU, Slow Burn, modern day AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:38:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5259467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumm95/pseuds/Fumm95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple request by a neighbor for a piano piece develops into something much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Story in a Song

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a post on tumblr. You can find a playlist of all of the music I reference [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLbN_o8c3bbBUESJ1k-_Q-Blj2ib-tpnKa). Special thanks to Ballades for some of the music inspiration.

It was the first time Alethea had ever gotten a response to practicing in her apartment.

Of course, she heard the stories of people getting badgered about making too much noise, of receiving complaints and being relegated to practice rooms, but she had always been spared the struggle.

Until now, it seemed.

She frowned, eyeing the folded page with some trepidation. In all likelihood, it would be a politely worded request to keep the volume down or to please play the piano somewhere else since the sound carried through the building; there was no reason to be nervous.

Except she was.

Taking a deep breath, she unfolded the paper, then blinked.

Bold, elegant script covered the page: “ _I humbly request the pianist for Liebestraum No. 3 in A-flat_.”

She read it again. And again. Her eyes flicked over the sheet, looking for a hint of a trick or a signature. Nothing.

A smile tugged at her lips as she glanced back to her piano and her stack of sheet music. It was only last week when she had dug it out, had brushed up on the fingerings and technique. Since she had re-explored the stories and emotions lurking behind its clean, printed notes.

Pulling out the score, she settled it neatly on the music rack; Beethoven could wait for her to complete the anonymous request. She considered the window for a moment, then opened it as far as she could.

It was strange, playing for an invisible audience, but the melody demanded her attention, pulling her focus away from the open window and the mysterious neighbor who was almost certainly listening.

As the piece came to a close, the sound of loud applause carried through her window and she grinned as she stood up, bowing with a flourish. Curious, she stuck her head out the window, but couldn’t identify the source of the clapping.

She shrugged as she closed the window again. If they wanted to, they’d identify themselves in due time.

Still, her smile lingered as she flipped to her Beethoven sonata and settled back down to practice.

* * *

“Wait, stop!”

Alethea froze mid-step as Mei darted around her and stooped in the doorway. “What?” She cursed as she tried to peer around the groceries in her arms.

Her friend popped back into her vision, grinning as she set down her load before brandishing a piece of paper in her face. “You nearly stepped on this! Who’s slipping you notes under your door, anyway?” Mei gasped, her face lighting up. “Do you have a secret admirer?”

“Creators, no.” Alethea groaned as she stumbled to the counter and set down her bags. “Here, let me see.” She reached for the paper but Mei danced out of reach and unfolded it.

“It’s someone asking if you know the second movement of Beethoven’s _Pathetique_.” Her friend’s disappointment was audible and she took advantage of her distraction to snag the paper back.

Her neighbor’s handwriting was already recognizable: “ _I hear you diligently practicing the first movement of Beethoven’s Pathetique. Does your indomitable focus extend to practicing the second movement, I wonder?”_

She smirked at Mei’s pout, though it softened as she flattened the paper out; in her excitement, Mei had missed a line.

_“P.S. The Liszt was breathtaking_. _”_

There was still no name.

“What is it? Alethea Lavellan, you are _blushing_. Your ears are bright red. Don’t even try to deny it!”

Andruil take her, she was. Not for the first time, she wished her ears weren’t so damn sensitive; in comparison, Mei never seemed to have as much trouble hiding embarrassment.

“It’s nothing,” she insisted. “They just requested that I play something last week and so they’re saying that they enjoyed my performance.”

“Oh.” Mei looked disheartened for a moment before another grin crossed her expression. “Well, it could still be a secret admirer! Or maybe they’ll fall in love with your playing and…” Her words drifted off as a blissful expression crossed her expression.

Alethea rolled her eyes. “Keep dreaming.”

“Ugh, you’re so unromantic.”

“Just because you are in a happy relationship doesn’t mean we all need to be.” The words came out harsher than she had intended and she smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “Anyway, I prefer to think of it as being realistic.”

There was a pause before Mei glanced between her and the piano. “Sooooo, are you going to play or what?”

“Not until you leave.”

Her friend pouted. “You’re going to delay fulfilling the wishes of your friendly and mysterious neighbor just because you won’t let your best friend hear you play?”

She resisted the urge to snort. Barely. “Hardly. Try ‘I’m going to wait until my best friend leaves for fear that she’s going to stalk some poor soul who just wants to listen to some piano music just in case they might be my soulmate.’ You can hear me play some other time.”

“But-“

Alethea glared. “I will call Cullen to drag you out if I have to.”

“Ugh, fiiiiiiiiine. But you have to tell me if anything happens.”

Smirking at the defeated look on Mei’s face, she darted forward, giving her friend a quick hug. “I sincerely doubt anything will happen. But thanks for your help.”

“What are friends for? Except, apparently, listening to you play?”

As Mei let herself out of the apartment with a final wave, she laughed, then turned to contemplate the piano. Her music remained open where she had last left it and, if she concentrated, she could almost hear the melody, a warm tune that was at once calming and tender. An interesting choice.

Briefly, she wondered whether her neighbor was even around; there was no way of confirming that her performance, for lack of a better word, would even be witnessed, especially since she had no idea of when the note as left, but there was little she could do about that.

Besides, it was possible that she would receive another note if they missed it.

Alethea smiled at the thought; it was nice to have her playing appreciated, especially by somebody she didn’t know.

Her smile widened as she approached her instrument, fingers trailing lightly over the keys before settling over the starting notes.

* * *

 It became a common part of her life before long. Every so often, an inspection near her door would yield a request, from a variety of composers, though she noted that her anonymous neighbor tended to favor Romanticism, and occasionally the more obscure.

The afternoon she received a suggestion to explore Sibelius’ piano pieces, she devoted weeks to learning her favorite, enough so that Mei complained about her preoccupation. The warm applause she received made it worth all of the effort.

It also gave her the courage to leave a short note of her own, taped to her door.

“ _Your recommendations have been a highlight of my practicing. Do you play yourself?_

_-Alethea_ ”

When the next note appeared under her door, several days later, trembling fingers snatched it up, but she hesitated before reading it. Would there be an answer? A name? Would they be upset at her curiosity?

She nearly laughed at her own foolishness, but it didn’t stop trepidation from lingering as she unfolded the sheet.

“ _Your performance of Le Soir was exceptional, especially for having learned it in such a short time. Another testament to your focus, perhaps? How do you feel about Brahms? His intermezzos are glorious, are they not?_ ”

Underneath, a few lines were scribbled, as though hastily added:

“ _As for me, I have not played in some time. However, I find your devotion is making me to reconsider my decision. It is – you are – most inspiring._

_-Solas_ ”

Solas. Pride, if she recalled her Elven. An unusual name, but a name nonetheless. And more surprisingly, an Elven name.

Another elf, then? Like her? Not that they were rare, exactly, but…

It wasn’t until after she had found her music and begun recalling her favorite that she realized her face ached from smiling.

A week later, when her piece drew to a tender close, she could have sworn she heard a low “Well done, _da’len_ ” from outside the open window.

* * *

The Dalish. It had been so long since she had really thought of her people; ever since she had chosen to leave for her education, it seemed as though she had run into fewer and fewer of her fellow elves.

Had it really been years since she had left her clan?

Creators, she missed them. Her parents, and Keeper Deshanna, and her brothers and sisters, either by blood or by clan.

Alethea wandered to her instrument, fingers sliding over smooth wood as she recalled the support they had given her when she had first decided to learn to play piano. With her clan’s love of music, it wasn’t entirely surprising.

Almost without thinking, her fingers sought out the first few notes to _Mir Da’len Somniar_ , the notes sounding oddly flat compared to the richness of her clan’s voices.

Her progress through the song was slow as she worked out the notes, but comforting as well. She could almost picture their faces, warm and gentle, as they sang the younger children to sleep with the haunting melody.

She could almost feel like she was _home_.

There was a brief silence before now-familiar applause rang out, more enthusiastic than she had ever heard it.

It was unsurprising when she found a note the next day.

“ _It has been so long since I have heard anything by the Dalish. Even rough as it was, your playing clearly told of fond memories. Do you remember any others?_

_-Solas_ ”

Warmth rose in her chest at the praise and she felt a sudden surge of affection for her friend’s gentle encouragement.

Actually deciding what to play was a different story entirely. _Suledin_ had been popular with her clan, but playing it somehow felt wrong. Not without her family to join in, voices rising with determination and strength.

But _Din’Elandrin_ … The tale of Elandrin and Adalene’s star-crossed love had been her favorite growing up, as tragic as it was. The ensuing years had not diminished her fondness for it and the song encompassed all of its tenderness and sorrow in ways that left few eyes dry. And yet… would it be odd to share a song detailing the events that led to the Exalted March?

When she ran the suggestion by Mei, her friend’s smug grin was audible. “Isn’t that about the tragic romance between Elandrin and Adalene? Oh, you must tell me what he says!” An hour of additional conversation had not been enough to dissuade her, and Alethea eventually conceded defeat.

If the heat in her cheeks was any indication, she had every reason to be thankful that they had only been talking over the phone.

Mei insisted on being present for the performance as well, much to her chagrin, but Alethea was somewhat gratified by the emotional reaction she had managed to coax out from her normally sunny friend.

Her neighbor’s praise was equally heartening, a fact that Mei had thankfully been too distracted to notice.

Her friend, however, did not miss the note that was slid under her door several minutes later.

“ _I must admit to being unfamiliar with the most recent song, though the tragic love story was clear in your playing. As masterful as ever, da’len._

_-Solas_ ”

Not even Mei’s loud whoop of delight was able to completely wipe the grin off of her face. She could almost hear his voice, quiet and kind in his approval, just as he always was. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine him, leaning against the wall as he listened. His features shifted but a gentle smile was always present, eyes closed as the music, _her_ music, floated through the air.

The mental image did nothing to distract her from the warmth in her chest, from the flutter in her stomach, at his praise.

* * *

Weeks passed in a blur of Debussy and Chopin and Schubert, with the occasional traditional Dalish songs mixed in. Alethea wasn’t sure she had ever practiced so much before, but she could hardly bring herself to care.

Even Mei hadn’t complained, though she had to wonder whether her friend had any ulterior motive, considering the number of times she had been pestered about whether or not she had actually met the man.

She refused to acknowledge the fluttering in her stomach at the thought.

Yet, in spite of all of their interactions, he still managed to catch her off-guard:

“ _It occurred to me that while I have requested quite a few pieces, you have never shared what your personal favorite is._

_-Solas_ ”

Alethea stared down at the note, trembling in numb fingers. It was a perfectly reasonable request, and indeed something that they had never discussed, insomuch as their written conversations could occur. It was such a simple, ordinary question.

But then, why did her heart feel like it would pound out of her chest?

She took a deep breath, focusing on steadying her hand. It was an innocent question. Surely there wasn’t anything deeper to the request. There couldn’t be. She had to be reading too much into it. Not that she cared, one way or another.

Creators, she had always been a dismal liar.

Regardless, it was out of her hands. She repeated it to herself as she moved to the piano, feeling her heartbeat settle with the mantra as she mechanically sought her music and opened the window.

It felt different, somehow, her pre-performance ritual. Simultaneously, more and less seemed to be at stake; she was no longer playing one of his requests, but he would hear the piece she picked as her favorite.

She was fairly certain Mei didn’t even know that much about her.

And yet, she found that she _wanted_ him to know. If anyone were to know, she wanted it to be him.

Even so, the innocent sheets of paper rested on her music rack felt almost ominous. She shook her head as light fingers traced the composer’s name: Schubert. She was being ridiculous.

It still didn’t prevent her from taking an extra minute, weaving back together the strands of her composure, before starting.

She let the soothing melody wash over her, fingers sliding over familiar notes. It had been so long since she had played it for the joy of playing it, and even longer since she had shared with another person.

Someone she enjoyed interacting with, whom she wanted to know better. Whom, against all odds, she _cared_ for.

The realization nearly broke her concentration; for one precarious moment, she hesitated, thumb wavering over the next note before she forced herself onward.

She wondered whether he noticed.

Even as the piece drew to a slow close, her heart pounded erratically and she struggled to draw breath into a suddenly tight chest. Could he realize? Did he know?

There was a long silence when she finished and she couldn’t help but think that he had missed her performance or had been unimpressed by either the piece or her interpretation. She ignored the pang in her heart, the churning in her stomach, at the thought.

Sudden applause made her jump and she hurried to the window, curious what the delay had been. Just like every time before, she saw nothing out of the ordinary.

But as she slipped back into her apartment, a strange, sinking feeling in her chest, a rich voice called “ _Ma serannas, lethallan_ ,” in an almost breathless tone.

Alethea froze, hardly noticing when her window slammed shut.

Lethallan. He’d said “lethallan.”

Her hands shook as she scrabbled for her pen and a piece of paper. It left her handwriting almost illegible but she didn’t care.

_“I am glad you liked the Schubert. It has been far too long since I last played it for anyone. I suppose it feels like I am revealing a secret about myself… but I am glad to have shared it with you.”_

She paused, worrying her lip between her teeth. Was she being too direct? Her hand hovered over the last line, pen tip poised, but she shook her head with a quick, too loud laugh, and continued with a resolute nod.

“ _What about you, if I may ask? What is your favorite piece? The Liebestraum, perhaps? Or something else?_

_-Alethea_ ”

For a moment, she frowned at the page, deliberating whether she would be overstepping her bounds. Taking a deep breath, she scribbled a quick “ _Lethallin_ ” at the top and taped it to her door before she could change her mind.

Yet, in spite of her frantic pulse, she was grinning as she re-entered her apartment.

* * *

“So…” Alethea didn’t have to glance at her friend to know that Mei was bouncing on the balls of her feet, a smirk fixed on her face. “Have you heard from your Solas recently?”

Her gaze never left her reading. “My pride is great, thank you very much,” she retorted, hiding a grin. She gave it about three seconds before—

“What are you talking about?”

She looked up, snorting at Mei’s indignant expression. Her friend’s huff of annoyance and crossed arms only made her cackle harder.

“What?”

“The word,” she forced out once she regained control of herself. “Solas means pride.”

“Oh.” Irritation colored her tone as Mei rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, though.”

Sighing, Alethea closed her notes; when Mei took that tone, she would never hear the end of it. Her friend knew it just as well, perching herself on the edge of the table with an expectant grin. “So…? How is your Solas?”

“He’s not mine,” she returned. Before Mei could interject, she shook her head. “And I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him for some time.”

Judging from her friend’s shocked face, she hadn’t been expecting it either. Alethea restrained her sigh, feeling a now-familiar twinge in her chest at the thought. The first few days after her note had been taken, she had checked compulsively for a slip of paper, fighting the wave of disappointment with each time, but now…

“How long?” Mei demanded suddenly.

“I—sorry?”

“How long has it been? You haven’t told me anything in weeks. Months, even.” Mei pressed a hand to her chest. “Your best friend hasn’t heard anything. How could you?”

Alethea shrugged, though her friend’s theatrics were enough to bring a genuine smile to her face. “That’s because there isn’t much to say.”

“Isn’t much to say? Is that what you call it when you spend the better part of two months just practicing and completely ignoring me?”

She flinched, muscles tightening reflexively, though the words held no spite. “I _am_ sorry,” she offered, stealing a glance at her friend.

“I know.” Mei’s eyes were sympathetic. “I’m just teasing, you know. I totally understand where you’re coming from. But…” and her face lit up, losing all trace of seriousness, “you should still tell me anyway.”

Running a hand through her hair, she sighed. “Yeah, I know. I just… don’t know where to start?” Or how she felt, but that was a different matter entirely, and one she _really_ didn’t want to discuss with Mei. Or anyone, for that matter.

“Where we left off is usually a good idea. What’s happened since the Death of Elandrin?” Mei plopped down on the seat next to her and leaned forward, her fingers steepled expectantly.

She sighed again. “Not much.” She held her hands up at the incredulous look leveled at her. “No, really! Mostly just suggestions for other pieces. Some Chopin impromptus, Debussy’s _La Fille Aux Cheveux de Lin_ – you’ve probably heard of _The Girl With the Flaxen Hair_ , right? – and _Numin’Mythal_. Ah, it translates to _Mythal’s Cry_ , or more formally, _Mythal’s Lament_ ,” she hastened to add at her friend’s confused look.

“ _Mythal’s Lament?_ Who’s Mythal?”

One finger idly traced the purple vallaslin branching across her forehead. “Mythal, the protector. She was the mother of my people’s gods. It is said that Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, killed her and the song is used to mourn her passing, and the changing of times.”

“That’s an odd choice. Rather dark, you know?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose. It’s lovely though.” They all were, haunting and mournful, but with the strain of determination and endurance that marked her people, that kept them pushing onward.

There was a moment of silence before Mei spoke again, her face solemn. “I am sure it is, if it’s anything like _Din’Elandrin_.”

Alethea grinned. “That was nothing. I still need a lot of practice in composing before I can actually come up with something with transcribing.”

“That’s what practicing is for! But you said ‘mostly’ earlier. What else happened? Did you meet him in person and frighten him away with your beauty?”

She forced a laugh. “Hardly. No, he just asked what my favorite piece is.”

“Oh. OH.” Mei’s eyes were huge. “Hang on, you’ve never even told _me_ that…” Her face lit up for a moment, but almost as quickly, her friend sobered again. “So what did you play?”

Her eyes darted to her music, still sitting on her piano. “Schubert.”

“And…?”

“And what?”

“And you didn’t hear from him since?” Mei’s indignation on her behalf was almost enough to make her smile. Creators, what had she done to deserve such a loyal friend?

“Not exactly. He thanked me and I asked what his favorite piece was.” Her voice dropped. “That was two weeks ago.”

She blinked back the sudden sting behind her eyes to find Mei peering at her. “You like him, don’t you?”

“I—yes.” She dropped her gaze to her fidgeting hands. “It seems silly, now. I don’t even _know_ him.”

Mei shook her head. “That’s usually how it works. But you need a distraction. Come play something for me, and then we’ll go out and catch a movie or something. Maker!” Her friend grabbed her hand and tugged her to the piano, enthusiasm fairly radiating off of her in waves. “Two weeks is long enough. Ooooooh, look at this! Brahms!”

Alethea found herself laughing, a book of Brahms’ intermezzos shoved unceremoniously into her hands as she was pushed onto the bench. Pointedly flipping past the one she had performed several months earlier, she smiled at her friend. “You know, I’ve always wanted to learn this one.”

If Mei noticed her eyes were overbright at the tenderness of the piece, she said nothing, only dragging her out the door once she was done playing.

* * *

A loud knock on the door made her jump, her finger missing the next note entirely. Wincing at the jarring dissonance, she stared at the door, wondering if she was hearing things.

When the knock sounded again, she got up with a frown. Mei was generally her only visitor, and her friend had a date with her boyfriend for their anniversary. The only thing she had caught from her friend’s distracted rambling was something about getting a dog, so it couldn’t have been her.

But then…

Shrugging, she peered through the peephole, prepared to redirect any lost visitors back down to the front desk, when she froze, her heart skipping a beat.

She stared, taking in the pale skin and bright blue eyes, the pointed ears marking his race, their race, clearly. He was rather tall for an elf, but stood in an unassuming manner, one hand poised to knock again. She had never seen him before in the building, but she knew him, could recognize him anywhere.

For a moment, she contemplated ignoring him, retreating back to the safety of her instrument and her music. Let him stew, waiting for a response that wouldn’t come. Her hand trembled as she hesitated over the door handle. It would serve him right if she did.

And yet…

When he knocked again, she took a deep breath, bracing herself against the strange ache in her chest, and cracked open the door enough to look out.

Her heart pounded in her ears, nearly drowning out her own voice. “Solas?”

The silence was filled with the rush of blood as she stared, taking in his surprise, the widening of his eyes as he studied her, the hand that drifted gracefully back down to his side. The way he straightened, seeming to dwarf her small stature despite not being much taller.

“Alethea,” he returned and she released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. His voice was just as lilting as she remembered, those few times he rewarded her performance with spoken praise, his accent caressing her name, transforming it into something unique, beautiful. “I—may I come in?”

“Oh!” She jerked the door open, heat flooding her face. “Yes, yes. Of course. Please come in.” She gestured towards the futon with a shaking hand before hurrying to her small kitchen. “Would you like something to drink? Water? Tea?”

“Just water, thank you. I am… not very fond of tea.”

She made a face as she reached for the cups. Who didn’t like tea?

Gentle notes greeted her when she returned with the water and she froze; she had completely forgotten the music she had left on the piano, still open to the Brahms intermezzo she was practicing. Carefully, she put the glasses down as quietly as she could before turning to watch.

Solas was sitting at her instrument, fingers lightly running over the notes to the beginning of the piece. For all he had said about having not played in some time, it was clear that he had been very skilled, and had not lost his ability. She closed her eyes, the warm, romantic theme filling her room.

When he paused, she opened her eyes to find him looking at her with a warmth that set her stomach fluttering. Her cheeks heated at the softness in his gaze, a tenderness she had only ever seen in Cullen’s expression when he looked at Mei…

The next moment, he looked away, bolting up from the bench as though startled. “I apologize. I should not have—”

“No!” She flushed at the vehemence of her protest. “I mean—That was lovely. I would love to hear more.”

He looked pleased, pride quickly crossing his features, as he sat back down. “ _Ma nuvenin._ ”

As he began again, she stepped closer, studying his expression. He was clearly familiar with the piece; he scarcely used the music, instead playing with eyes focused on something in the distance, somewhere far beyond the bare, pale walls, somewhere warm and gentle and _romantic_.

The piece finished slowly, and she met his gaze, all wonder and tenderness and something else she couldn’t name but which sent her heart soaring. Only after a minute did she remember to breath, to draw air into burning lungs.

It broke their connection and she pushed breathless words through the crushing wave of loss as he looked away. “ _Ma serannas_ , Solas.”

“It was my pleasure.”

He paused, then picked up a neatly wrapped package and offered it to her, long, slender fingers brushing against her own.

Her breath hitched.

“I apologize for my absence as of late. Your performances have inspired a project of my own with which I have been preoccupied.” At his nod, she carefully unwrapped it and stared.

A thin packet of sheet music rested in her hand, simply bound but clearly painstakingly, lovingly, put together. Words in a familiar hand marked the cover and she sounded them out as she traced with a light finger: “ _Vhen’sulahnin._ ” She looked at him in surprise. “The songs of our people?”

He nodded, and she grinned at him as she flipped through, her heart pounding.

Familiar notes marched across the staffs and she followed them in her mind, hearing the Dalish lullaby she had played several months ago. But he had added to it, setting the simple melody to haunting harmonies and gentle countermelodies, transforming it into something ethereal. Her fingers itched to try them out.

She flipped the page. The mournful requiem for Elandrin, and Mythal’s lament, and all of the songs she had struggled to transpose were contained. Her influence was unmistakable, but the melodies were enhanced in a way she couldn’t have managed, capturing all of the emotions within the dark, handwritten notes.

Alethea caught his gaze. “Did you—” Her voice wavered but he seemed to understand.

“Yes.” He glanced at the booklet in her hand, his expression softening. “When I was looking for collections of Dalish music, I was unable to find anything particularly…”

“Authentic?” Her lips quirked in a dry smile. “I’ve looked as well. Nothing I’ve found seems particularly Dalish, at least not the ones I know.” She shrugged. “We don’t usually write down any of the songs, since everything is learned by rote, so I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised.”

Solas nodded. “That would make sense. At any rate, I thought you may wish to have a written copy of that which you have performed.” He hesitated. “I took the liberty of altering some of the harmonies. Should you prefer it, I could…”

She grinned. “No, I’m sure it’s much better than anything I came up with. But thank you, _v_ —” She bit her lip. “Thank you, _lethallin_. It is… beautiful. I can’t imagine how much time you put into it.” Suddenly shy, she flicked her eyes back down to the music.

“It was worth it.” A warm hand gently nudged her chin back up and her heart fluttered at the tenderness in his expression. “It has been too long since I have had the opportunity to work on music, and especially something so beautiful.” His eyes were impossibly warm, close enough that she could lose herself in his gaze.

Only when he blinked and moved back could she remember to breathe, drawing air through parted, dry lips. His expression seemed to have closed, a mask falling over his features, though some indescribable sadness lingered in the depths of his eyes, mirroring the pang in her chest.

Her skin still tingled at the phantom feeling of his touch.

“I… apologize.” His voice was soft, wavering, as he clenched his hands. “I should not have encouraged this.” Slightly panicked eyes scanned the room as he visibly swallowed. “Forgive me, _vhe- lethallan_. I should leave—”

“Solas, wait!” She drew in a shuddering breath as she caught his hand, freezing him mid-turn.

His hand was warm.

“Please, _lethallan_.” Her heart ached at the pleading tone, at the pain roughening his voice. “I cannot—”

“Will you at least let me play something for you?” The words slipped out, impulsive and desperate, as she stared at him. “You haven’t told me your favorite piece.” She swallowed hard, hating the quiver in her voice, and looked away.

The silence was filled with the frantic pounding of her heart, the crushing certainty that he would refuse, that perhaps she had finally gone too far. It smothered her, choking every inhale.

Alethea braced herself and risked a glance at him, releasing his hand. Pain chased yearning across his face, an indecisive battle unfolding before her. Their eyes met and his gaze softened, warm and impossibly sad.

When he spoke, his voice was hesitant, nearly inaudible. “I… thank you, lethallan.” His chest visibly shuddered as he inhaled. “I expect you are familiar with Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata?”

She nodded, unable to completely hide her surprise. “It is lovely.” She moved to sit down at her piano, carefully pulling out the music and ignoring the twinge in her chest as he stepped aside, keeping studiously out of reach. “And tragic.”

Her starting notes nearly drowned out his words, soft enough that she couldn’t tell if he was talking to her: “If only you knew.”

* * *

When she finished, she was not entirely surprised to find herself alone, the book of Dalish music left open on his seat, though that did nothing to prevent her stomach from plummeting, her chest from constricting until she could barely breathe.

The room itself seemed to hold its breath as she gingerly picked up the packet.

It was open to a piece she hadn’t seen in her quick skim, nor one that she had ever played. The title was printed at the top in his familiar script and she frowned. “ _Din’anshiral._ ”

Just the word sent a chill down her spine.

Underneath, in a slightly shaky hand, were a few added words, and she could picture him, sitting on the couch, pen in hand, while she played. A simple, tender scene. What should have been a warm, domestic, _happy_ , scene.

Swallowing hard around the sudden pressure in her throat, she blinked back the sudden blurriness to her vision, the wetness that she refused to let escape. She would not break, she vowed.

And yet her heart shuddered, each beat sending a fresh bolt of pain through her as she stared, frozen.

_“Thank you, vhenan. Forgive me.”_


End file.
